


My Harry

by livvywrites



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I suck at tagging, Love, One Shot, guess that's it, little things inspired, livvywrites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livvywrites/pseuds/livvywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bunch of stuff that makes Rebekah love Harry</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Harry

It’s something about the first snow that makes me all tingly inside. Maybe it’s the beautiful snowflakes falling down from the sky, the tea you drink in front of the fireplace at night, the book you’re reading curled up under the cosy blanket, the cold weather that makes your nose and cheeks go all red, or the dimples in Harry’s cheeks which are formed when he steps outside the first time the snow lies on the ground.

 Harry Styles is a lot of things. He is kind, sweet, calm, quiet, mature, funny and handsome. He is also impulsive, childish, annoying, loud and all over the place. Harry Styles is someone you both hate and love at the same time, someone you love to hate and hate to love. Harry is cute and adorable all bundled up in scarves and mittens and beanies. He is hot and irresistible when he’s naked and sweaty on top of me in the nights.

 When Harry talks to me I smile and ask him question to make him to talk more. When Harry sings I close my eyes for a moment and just listen. When Harry laughs I tickle him to get him laugh even more, because if you’ve once heard Harry Styles laugh you never want him to stop. When Harry tells me he loves me I kiss him right _there_ to make him say it again and when Harry moans, telling me how good I am, I touch him right _there_ to make him sound like that again.

 

Harry acts out his emotions and he’s never afraid of saying what he feels.

 Harry is happy most of the time. When he is, he is dancing silly around the flat naked until I come home and force underwear on him. He continues dancing though, making me join him and somehow we always end up on the floor. He cooks, trying out new recipes, buys me flowers and takes me out on dates. He kisses me and tells me how beautiful I am, even when I’m just getting out of bed. He especially tells me every time I’m not wearing make up or have fixed my hair, because he is one of those guys who question girls who feel the need of wearing make up all the time, even when they’re having a lazy Sunday at home with the one they love. He also thinks size has nothing to do with beauty. Once, when I told him I needed to go on a diet to lose weight, he bought a gigantic pot of ice cream and made me eat it with him all in one night whilst watching The X Factor.  
 “You’re perfect to me,” he said and I had thrown a pillow in his face for quoting his own song.

 

There are times when I get really insecure about myself. I hardly eat, I don’t look at myself in the mirror and I cry myself to sleep. It’s not just about how I look – it’s about how I _am_. Whenever I feel like this, I can see the sadness in Harry’s eyes. He hates it when I feel low about myself because he feels like whatever he does, he cannot make it stop. He knows that even though he helps me through my low-point, it’ll always come back. Harry tries really hard to make me feel better. He hugs me and kisses me and tells me how beautiful I am. He lies with me in bed, scratches my back and whispering sweet nothings until I fall asleep. It’s times like these that make me feel that I don’t deserve this beautiful, beautiful man.

Some would say Harry is happy all the time. That’s not quite true.

 Sometimes Harry comes home after a long and tough day at the studio, nose red from the cold and he’s close to tears because he _messed up that recording_ and _he got a paper cut_ and _Louis took the last cookie even though he had already had two and Harry just one_ and Harry is just like a child when he’s sick and tired of everything. Those days, Harry and I curl up against each other in front of the fireplace, watching the dancing flames cast red-, yellow- and orange-coloured lights into the large room. We always end up watching _Love Actually_ , because it’s Harry’s favourite movie and he is absolutely adorable when he’s vulnerable, so you can’t really say no when he’s looking at you with his big green eyes.

 Harry is afraid of not being enough, of losing it all – his family, the band, me. When Harry’s feeling shit about himself he goes on twitter and reads the few horrible comments about him through his tears. He pretends he doesn’t care about the nasty things people say about him in front of others, but I know it upsets him a lot. It makes me sad to see Harry sad so I hide his phone and kiss away his tears. Sometimes when I tell him I love him and how great I think he is after something like this has happened, he shakes his head and tells me I’m stupid for loving him, he’s just an untalented boy who happens to get a lot of sympathy praise because _why would anyone love me?_ That breaks my heart every time.   
 People think Harry is this confident, on the verge of cocky even, boy who gets everything he points at and is a total prick and uses his fame to get laid. Harry is quite the opposite actually. He is kind and sweet and sensitive and a bit shy. He cares too much, he’s clingy and he loves way too easily for his own good. Harry talks a lot about irrelevant things and says the most random things every other minute. I adore him so much for who he is and what he does.

 

Whenever I think of Harry, I smile. He is both my sun and my rain – I both love him and hate him. There is no one who frustrates me and makes me as happy as he does.   
 People tell us we’re a real power couple. That what we have is perfect and we should be lucky that we go so well together and never fight. I wonder what they would say if they knew how our fights are. Harry doesn’t get angry very often, but when he does he’s absolutely terrifying. I think that the fact that he isn’t angry a lot is what’s the most intimidating, not what he does. When Harry does get angry, he is loud and his eyes turn black. He yells and sulks and acts like a two-year-old. He escapes to our bedroom to calm down because he doesn’t have it in his heart to see me hurt nor hurt me at all – whether it is on purpose or not. When he comes out a while later, he brings me close to his chest and snuggles his way into my body. Apologies are frequent and he kisses the back of my head. I tell him it’s okay and we wake up several hours later on the sofa, lying uncomfortably on top of each other. We’re too tired to move so we kiss for a bit and then fall back into sleep, Harry’s arms wrapped protectively around me.

When Harry came home with his first tattoo, he had barley shrugged out of his jacket when he shoved his arm in my face and nearly knocked me over.   
 “Look!” he’d said, all excited. “It’s a star!” When I’d laughingly asked him why he chose a star, he’d looked at me as if I was the biggest idiot he’d ever met.  
 “Because you love stars and I love you. So it makes sense.” It is now one of my favourite things about Harry.

 

One Direction-Harry is a party boy, he’s social and he has a lot of cool hipster friends. My Harry is a stay-at-home boy, he rather stays at home watching a movie with a couple of friends than go out getting drunk. Harry once told me he had a ring hidden in his underwear drawer. He had planned on proposing to me on our two-year-anniversary, but he was so afraid of asking because he thought I was going to turn him down. He still hasn’t asked me.

 

Don’t get me wrong in all this rambling though. Harry is neither three years old nor a prude or a boring person in any kind. No, Harry is a very cheeky boy who makes sexual innuendos all the time.  He takes me out on adventures all over the world when the band’s touring. It’s just that he is different from what the media makes him. He is much more sensitive and caring. Before Harry, I’d never met a boy so close to his mother and sister. He talks to them as often as he can, preferably once a day, even if he’s only got five minutes in between interviews.   
 The first time Harry took me to see his mum, he kept fidgeting in the car, drumming his fingers against the wheel and changing the radio stations every few minutes. I think he was more nervous than I was. When we finally arrived and stood in the hall though, his nerves were as if vanished. His arm was placed firmly around my waist and with a proud smile he introduced me to his mother, stepfather and sister. His family is really lovely. Anne has told me that Gemma and Robin have made a bet on when Harry is asking me to marry him.

 

Harry smells like a man. All warm and minty and worn cologne that never really disappears no matter how many times he showers. In the summer, Harry smells like apples and the sun and in the winter, he smells like cinnamon and gingerbread and saffron. I really love being cuddled up against Harry’s chest and just smell him. Harry calls me weird but laughs and lets me because he knows how much I love how he smells – like home.

 

Harry’s eyes are so green and so pretty and I wish out future children will inherit those beautiful emerald eyes. I am in love with his dimples and they are the most precious things and I love them to bits even though he thinks they are overrated. The chocolate coloured curls are so soft and smell so nice I could just run my fingers in them forever. Harry has a birthmark that’s placed a thumbs way down from the left corner of his mouth. He doesn’t care about it that much because _it’s just there, there’s really nothing I can do about it_ and he doesn’t understand why I’m so obsessed with it. Sometimes he is a bit annoyed with me because I kiss it all the time and touch him there every chance I get.   
 Sometimes I get so frustrated with him and his perfect face and his perfect everything and when ever I tell him that he just laughs and quotes the psychologist who made a report on why people found him so attractive when he was on the radio that one time.   
 “Average face,” he teases and kisses me, threading our fingers together. 

 

Harry is probably the weirdest person I know. I catch him watching children’s cartoons whenever he has a day off. He eats ice cream in the winter and drinks hot chocolate in the summer. Harry’s favourite TV show is _Friends_ and he’s watched the whole series more times than I can count. He always talks about the main characters like they’re real people and sulks when I call him silly. He hasn’t read many books, but he has one favourite book that he reads every Christmas and one of my favourite things about the holidays is when he reads it out loud for me.   
Harry can’t stand the taste of ginger, he loves the smell of lilies and he hates taking nasal spray when he has a cold. Harry does not believe in Santa Claus (he’s twenty one, he isn’t supposed to either), but that doesn’t stop him from putting out home-made cookies by the tree on Christmas Eve, because _it’s a tradition baby, you must keep those alive_. Them being gone in the morning is just yet a proof that Harry wakes up in the middle of the night and has a snack. If I confront him about it, he always denies. Even when there’s bread crumbs on the table or in the bed that weren’t there when we went to bed the previous night.

 Whenever I tell him how weird he is, he smiles so widely dimples deepen his cheeks and says:  
 “I know, we’ve discussed this a lot.”  
  
 Harry thinks we should name one of our future children Darcy. I have pointed out to him that I was the only girl since my mother in my family and that maybe he should think of a boy’s name before he jumps to conclusions. To that, he shakes his head and tells me that boys can too be named Darcy, haven’t I claimed _Pride and Prejudice_ was my favourite book?   
 “His surname was Darcy, his first name was Fitzwilliam. Do you want your child to be named Fitzwilliam?” I say to him. He just rolls his eyes to that.  
 “We will name our kid whatever we want to, because at least its last name will be Styles and nobody messes with a Styles.”

 

Harry is a bit over-protective. He wants people to know that I’m his – and only his. So when we are out, he doesn’t like to not have sight of where I am. If he was the one to decide, him and me would probably be together like glue all night, except for the obvious bathroom visit.   
 If I go out with my friends, without him, he doesn’t go to sleep until I am home. Or at least he says he won’t go to bed. Whenever I come home in the early hours of the morning, I find him asleep on the sofa, lips slightly parted and light snores escaping them. Sometimes I don’t bother waking him up, so I just slide out of my clothes and curl up against his chest. Waking up slightly, he puts his warm arms around me and brings me closer, whispering _I love you_ in his half asleep state and if I don’t answer him, he makes an adorable sound in the back of his throat, urging me on. Warm and sleepy Harry is my favourite Harry.

 

The first thing Harry ever said to me was “Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk past again?”. I was in a club with a few of my friends and I was leaning against the bar, new drink in my hand, scanning the club for someone interesting to lose myself with on the dance floor for a while. Of course it wasn’t the first time I’d seen Harry, I mean he is a global superstar after all. I’d seen him on TV and in magazines. I had rolled my eyes at him and continued looking around in the packed club. I’d felt someone stand beside me and didn’t have to look to know that it was Harry.

 “I’m Harry,” he’d introduced himself, leaning down and whispering in my ear. “And I think you’re really beautiful.” I’d snorted.  
 “Do you think all girls are that stupid to fall for the handsome boyband member just because he calls them beautiful? Think again, pop star.” I’d walked away after that and found my friends again and danced for the rest of the night. I’d caught Harry looking at me numerous of times, but I didn’t care.

 Needless to say, I hadn’t been very fond of him in the beginning and I had made him work for it. I wasn’t going to be another notch in his bedpost. Not knowing better, I actually did believe all the things the media made out Harry to be. How wrong I would turn out to be.

 It had been about a month after the club incident when we’d met again. It was two weeks before Christmas and I’d been running around town for several hours, trying to find the perfect present for all of my family and friends. I’d sat down in a café with a hot cup of tea in front of me, reading _Pride and Prejudice_ as I always did around Christmas, when I saw someone sit down in the armchair in front of me from the corner of my eye.

 “ _A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment_.” A deep hoarse voice had disturbed my peace and I’d put the book in my lap and groaned involuntarily when I saw the familiar mop of curls.  
 “Pride and Prejudice? Now that is a great book,” he’d said with a smile. He looked up at me with those annoying beautiful green eyes of his. “I never got to know your name last time.”   
 “Why would I tell you my name?” I’d said a little childishly.   
 “Oh a woman with an attitude, I like it.” He’d leaned over the table and snatched the last piece of my cookie before taking a mischievous bite from it and winked when I’d frowned at him. “I would really like to know it though. It would be awkward and impolite to call you ‘you’ all night on our date.”   
 “Our date? Are you seriously thinking I’ll go on a date with a stranger who a) stole my last piece of cookie and b) used an awful line on me the first time we met? What kind of girls do you normally date?” He hadn’t answered me, just smirked. I couldn’t help but think how attractive I found him and had sworn internally at myself for falling more and more for this cocky, but handsome, boy in front of me.   
 “Alright, let’s try again, seriously this time.” Harry rose from his chair and left, returning five seconds later and sat down again.  
 “Hi,” he’d said, stretching out his right hand in front of me. “I’m Harry.” I’d smiled and rolled my eyes at how silly I found him, but taken his hand nonetheless and shaken it.  
 “Rebekah.”  
 “It’s a pleasure to meet you Rebekah,” he’d said with a smile that showed off his dimples and I had loved the way my name rolled off his tongue.

 Harry had brought me lilies on our first date. We shared our first real kiss on the second and had sex five days after we’d spent the night together in his flat after having fallen asleep in his bed whilst watching a movie. Seeing as he indeed was, or rather _is_ , Harry Styles, one fifth of the world’s biggest boyband, I’d been very cautious in the beginning because I’d rather not be one of those girls who is taken advantage off and the papers writing a lot about for ‘being that girl who slept with Harry Styles and then got her heart broken’.

 

I hate when Harry spends too much money on me. I can accept it if he comes home with beautiful flowers or a pretty necklace or my favourite tea and cupcake. But when he once came home telling me there was a surprise outside, I had grown suspicious and gotten upset with him before I’d even seen what he had bought me. Swallowing my anger, I had followed my excited boyfriend down the stairs and lost it when he showed me the brand new car. As calmly as I could, I had explained to him that I didn’t want him to spend money on me and asked him to take it back – I didn’t even need a car, the underground and bus worked just fine and if I’d ever needed to go anywhere trains or buses couldn’t take me, I could always borrow one of his cars. Not wanting to make a scene, I’d stormed off to our flat and filled a large glass with water, drinking it slowly in an attempt to calm down.   
 “I just wanted to do something nice for my girlfriend,” Harry had said when he’d come into the kitchen where I stood leaning against the counter.   
 “That’s great Harry,” I’d answered him angrily. “Just don’t do it in buying me cars that cost a fucking fortune.” A heated argument had started after that, which had ended with me leaving with a slamming door after me. That was our first ever fight. Money is the biggest issue we argue about, even today. I just hate when Harry spends unnecessary money on me and even if he knows it, he keeps spoiling me with expensive dinners and trips. Sometimes it can be nice to be able to visit almost whatever you want but more often than not, it’s just annoying when Harry says _no it’s fine, I’ll buy it for you_ if I find something I really want but decide not to buy it because it’s too much money. It makes me feel like I’m his daughter rather than his girlfriend.

 

I love it when people take pictures of Harry and me together when we aren’t aware of it. And I’m not talking about creepy paparazzi photos because how often do you find a good pap photo? No, I’m talking about pictures that are captured by friends and family when Harry attacks me with tickles in the sofa or smear ice cream on my face with a mischievous grin on his face. In fact, I love them so much I keep an album filled with said pictures. When Harry is on tour or singings or whatever the band do when they’re not home, I take that album and look through it every night before I go to bed.  
 That’s a thing I hate about Harry actually. When he’s away on tour for months, I mean. I miss him more than I want to admit and sometimes I can’t fall asleep because I have always hated sleeping alone and when you’ve slept next to someone the majority of the 868 nights that is two and a half years, you kind of get used to it. Last time Harry went on tour, I made it two weeks before I burst out in tears when we spoke on the phone. I knew it broke Harry’s heart because he hates it when I cry and even more so when he can’t be there to kiss away the tears and comfort me with hot chocolate like he always does when I’m sad. Harry texted me the day after and told me he had booked me a flight to New York the following day and he would meet me up at JFK.

  **don’t cry baby girl. I’ll see you soon .xx**

I’d slept in one of Harry’s shirts that night, the album in a tight grip tucked into my chest.

 Two days later, I had run into Harry’s strong arms and he had lifted me up and spun me around like in a movie, kissing me tenderly and ignored the cameras clicking fanatically around us.

 

Harry adores his fans. He thinks they’re great and he can’t believe that there are some who have been there since they were five idiots running around in the X Factor house acting like five-year-olds. He can’t understand how they were sent through week after week, _because honestly we weren’t even that good_.   
 Harry also adores the boys and loves them to bits. If something reminds him that maybe someday there won’t be a One Direction anymore, his mood instantly changes and he’s sad pretty much for the rest of the day. He always talks about the boys like they’re all one person and he hates the rare times when they’re forced to perform or do a signing with one man short, like they had for a few shows when Zayn’s relative died a while ago.

 

I love when Harry calls me things like _darling_ , _baby_ , _beautiful_ and _baby girl_. Harry throws them out like they’re my real name and whenever he does I feel all warm inside. He uses those four the most, mostly when he’s being loving or just happy in general. When he is being annoying (which is a lot), he likes to shout out things like _sugar_ and _honey, I’m home!_ , even though he knows I find sugar extremely creepy and honey super cliché (and it also makes him sound like a forty-year-old man). Sugar is something old men call girls who walk by them on the street they want to shag.   
 The first time Harry told me he loved me, he had been talking to his mother on the phone. I’d overheard their conversation and dropped the cup in my hands with a loud bang. Harry’s eyes had widened comically when he’d turned around to acknowledge my presence and had told his mum he would call her later. He had placed his large hands on my waist and lifted me out of the colourful fragments and run his thumb over my lower lip before kissing me gently.  
 “You’re so beautiful,” he’d said. “And I love you so much.”

 Yesterday, Harry said to me that I actually had been the first one to say _I love you_ , but I’d been asleep and he wanted to be the first one to say it so he hadn’t told me. 

 

It is dark when Harry comes home. This is not uncommon though. I think it’s amazing that Harry is able to do what he’s always dreamed of doing, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder how different our lives would be if Harry hadn’t been Harry Styles, one fifth of One Direction, but just Harry Styles, boyfriend. We probably would never have met and I would probably be alone with a cat or something. I would never wish for all this to go away though, even though if it can be a tough time and put a strain on our relationship because of Harry’s fame. But I knew when I fell in love with this curly-haired monster that it wouldn’t be a bed of roses.   
 As usual, he yells out a _Honey I’m home!_ and sticks his cold nose down the back of my shirt when he comes up from behind and hugs me hello, kissing the soft skin between my shoulder blades.   
 “How was your day?” he asks quietly and hooks his chin over my shoulder.

 “Good thank you,” I answer and turn around in his embrace.

  “Yours?” He flashes a bright smile.

  “Better now.”  
 That is all I need to hear to make my day go from good to great.   
 


End file.
